We Will Fight
by LaLaLacey
Summary: Something stragne is happening in Woodrow. These kids have a horrible, new world closing in on them. How will they handle it?
1. Fists Up

Aro gave us specific orders. Easy enough to understand; we had been carrying out these same orders on a multitude of humans since we had our encounter with the hybrid. But as of yet, none had survived. Aro, poor sweet, misguided master; believed this boy to be the one who would make it.

* * *

Today was a very good day for me. I _finally_ won the scholarship I had been waiting for! Martial arts was a surprisingly hard thing to get a full ride for; but I had known all along it would be worth it. I nearly ran into the living room before I realized that no one but me was home. Okay, that's a let down. I called my dad and told him about the paper I received during fifth period, telling me I was to get the coveted scholarship.

I deserved it! I deserved this scholarship. No one in my family knew exactly why I was so good at fighting. My mom joked that I must have been a little psychic like Luke Skywalker or something. But my family knew to avoid the psychic jokes because of how much I had been teased when I was younger.

It wasn't my fault that I had a nightmare that showed me a school covered in blood and tearfully asked my mom to not take me to school that day. It wasn't my fault that my friend Michael decided to bring a gun to school that day. It definitely wasn't my fault that I was at the top of his list. And it wasn't my fault that, for that reason, the reporters showed up in droves to question me about it.

"I lied." I told them," I said I was sick so that I didn't have to go to school." That was the jist of the article that hung on our fridge. Only one reporter had commented on the dream, saying it was the vivid imagination of my youth that had saved my life that fateful day. I didn't know what it was, but it turned all the anger in my school towards me.

Everyone wanted a piece of the freak kid. Everyone wanted to beat up on Isaac Faulkner. No one told me it was okay. No one bothered to let me see a therapist, even when there were twelve at my school, a few weeks after the shooting.

Thankfully as we all matured, my classmates learned that their anger was misguided. But that's when I started martial arts. That's when I learned to defend myself. That's when I learned to keep your mouth closed when you know that Rebecca or Suzy or Dalton is going to be in a car crash. You keep your mouth closed and your fists up. That's why I deserved this scholarship.


	2. Tell No One

Newspaper articles: That's what my job had come to. It was so utterly stupid. Just because our twenty-second candidate hadn't jumped-ship yet, didn't mean he wasn't going to. But still, he had us searching to find the next, a girl.

* * *

Funerals are the worst. The absolute worst place to be when you're... like me. I stood back in a corner, trying to stay out of everyone's way; trying not to touch them. Even as I though that, an old wrinkled woman (who looked almost as if she would soon be in a coffin herself) walked up to me and asked me how I was doing, it must be hard to lose your grandmother so suddenly. No, I didn't even know her. Just as I thought I was safe and thst she was finally going to leave me alone, she bent to kiss me on the cheek.

I was standing in a cloudy looking kitchen, I knew in the instant that there was a roast in the crock-pot behind me and that it would burn if I did not leave this funeral as soon as possible.

As the world around me came back into focus, I saw the woman staring at me with a confused expression. Of course she had heard the rumors about why I had been pulled out of school. Evryone had heard about poor little Estrella Gonzales after the parpers had covered the story. Lots of kids had trouble making and keeping friends after the shooting but only a few had actually been tranfered to home school. I just couldn't stand the images I saw when I tried to play with everyone else. Sometimes it was something normal that clouded my vision; sometimes, not so much.

It took me forever to realize that I was not crazy. Especially with my parents doing everything they could to convince me that the things I saw were just dreams. The long line of therapists, doctors, and hypnotists had seemed never-ending. The day that everything changed was when my parents were reaching the end of their ideas. We were at the home of a woman who claimed to be a great psychic and had seen my story in the newspaper.

I remember sitting down in her deceivingly normal-looking living room. She only had to take my hands for a moment. I saw a million people flash before my eyes, a million waiting expressions. She must have done this same ritual many times before. I saw her come into focus and my mother and father looking at me with concern.

She asked my parents to leave the room and they reluctantly complied. She then gazed at me with sympathy. I remember thinking that it was odd, how she spoke to me as if I was an adult.

"My dear, you are in grave danger. I do not know how to change your future; there are forces bigger than I working toward it at this moment. A powerful family will want you one day. Avoid them, watch for them. But tell no one of the pictures you see. The visions are the only thing that can protect you from them."


	3. Act

We were tracking down the last of the three; the final trial. Aro threw a huge party and said it was in memory of those lost and in celebration of those to come in the new guard.

* * *

Being me was beginning to suck. It was hard enough being black and being into theatre. It got a lot worse when you were a brother with a past. Those stupid, horrible newspapers ruined my life. "JEREMY THOMAS, ANOTHER STRANGE OCCURANCE SINCE WOODROW ELEMENTARY SHOOTING" If they hadn't taken the liberty of printing that story on the news, the one about me being shot at and moving the bullet with my hand, I wouldn't be having this kind of problem.

As far as I could tell, not many people could move things like that whenever it seemed like a nice idea. Want the remote? Okay, just think about it real hard. And I mean _real_ hard. One time I had made my nose bleed while trying to throw darts at the dart board in my room.

That was when I was younger, when it had first started. I looked on websites and it was pretty obvious that most of them were a hoax. I had always read comics and sci-fi books though: telling my parents would be a bad idea. Telling anyone would be a bad idea. But still, other children had seen when Michael shot at me. They were all watching when I cried out and instinctively made a swat at the bullets coming at me. Those traitors had readily told the spineless reporters everything they needed to know.

I never knew why Michael targeted me. But my name was laer found on his list. I was not even in his grade. I was two years younger. But Michael had, and all I could do was try to put my life back together.

So now, even though I could just barely throw a dictionary, everyone at school was kind of afraid of me; or jealous of me or angry at me, I guess I didn't know. As I walked the halls from class to class kids called me Matilda and shouted obscenities. I guess they hadn't learned their lesson with Michael. Maybe I would have to teach them.

I shook those pleasant thoughts from my head as I walked into my theatre class. I could act as if none of the taunts mattered. Certainly if I could do anything, I could act.


	4. Isaac: trial 1

Isaac:

I shot out of bed and ran to the toilet, violently emptying the contents of my stomach; the remnants of a nightmare swirling around the edges of my thoughts. It was something about darkness and a needle. I felt as though I had a fever and I was sweating everywhere. I decided I would tell my parents and knew, in that strange way that I always knew things I should not, that I would miss school for the next two days; two instead of one, because the doctor would have no time to see me in the morning.

I looked at the clock by my bedside and realized that it was already morning, 4 AM was morning, I suppose. I decided I would tell mom about my late night escapades when she woke up at 5:30 to get her shower.

I relaxed back into my bed but found that I could no longer go to sleep. More than likely because I knew I was going to miss school tomorrow but maybe because I was so uncomfortably sick. I stood up and paced and then abruptly sat down at my computer and went to and watched some Strongbad emails, for a way to pass the time.

When she finally woke up, I told my mother about my lovely little barf fest and she, as expected, called the doctor. I ignored her as she fought to get me an appointment for today but eventually gave that up and excepted an appinment tomorow. I trudged up to my room. Today was going to be boring.


End file.
